Falling for falafel

Watching your falafel sandwich being made at Pahal Zan on 71st Ave. (just south of Austin St.) in Forest Hills is a sensuous exercise, not unlike watching a lover get dressed for the evening. First, half a dozen or so falafel balls are expertly scooped from a mountain of spiced chick pea mixture and lofted into a vat of boiling oil. After a few minutes of tumbling and sizzling in the bubbling hot oil, the balls are beautifully browned. The server, who looks like a cross between an Israeli paratrooper and an emo rocker, now begins to assemble your sandwich. Everything is done with care and precision. Tahini, hot sauce, falafel balls, sliced cabbage, lettuce and tomato salad, hummus, and more tahini sauce are daintily tucked into the soft, grill-streaked pita bread. Nothing is spilled, or torn, or misplaced. It’s perfect. With the first bite, you’re mainly admiring the freshness of the pita and the warm oily glow of the tahini sauce. Next bite is all about the clarity of the tomato and the crisp of the cabbage against the silky richness of the hummus. In the third bite, you crunch through the fried shell of a falafel ball and on into the soft crumbly center. The flavor is complex and strangely, deliciously familiar. By your last bite, you are already checking your wallet and taking a peek around, trying to decide if anyone will notice if you order another.